


It Never Should Have Happened

by DoctorJohnHolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crisis, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 15:03:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorJohnHolmes/pseuds/DoctorJohnHolmes
Summary: In the midst of the AIDs crisis, Sherlock is diagnosed with a death sentence. He is tasked to tell everyone he had ever been in a relationship with...and that includes informing the one mistake he had ever made. John Watson didn't want to live through that night again, as it had happened in a mere and accidental blur. Though Sherlock is obligated to tell him, and to encourage him to admit to his own sexuality by confronting a doctor himself.





	It Never Should Have Happened

They told Sherlock that as soon as he got his results back he had to tell everyone he'd ever had romantic contact with. That's what they had told Victor, of course, and so Sherlock had taken the proper precautions and gotten tested himself. And yet it had been something of an odd dream, a feeling of immortality that had come over him even as he heard the results getting read back to him in a very monotonous voice by an unsympathetic doctor. It was rather hard to think of himself as a dead man walking, a person grunting against the hatred from the outside world and now on the inside? How could he have been positive, how could something so horrible happen to him? If being gay wasn't bloody impossible before it sure was now, not only did everyone hate you but it seemed that God did as well...why else would he send down a disease that only killed homosexuals? They were being wiped out in droves, oh well Victor's death could certainly be tolerable, Sherlock could handle that and so could the rest of the world. Even dying himself didn't seem all too horrible of a fate, yes it was rather difficult to comprehend the fact that he was going to end up in his own grave sooner or later, however it was comforting, in a way, to know that somehow he wouldn't have to live to the full extent of his life. Everyone had deadlines hanging over their heads, and yet for healthy people death seemed awfully far away, it seemed almost irrelevant. And yet Sherlock didn't even feel sick! He felt healthy, but he knew that no matter what he did, the end was veering closer every day. He wasn't privileged enough to have any guarantees, like the people that milled around him and acted as if they were somehow his superior. Those who dared to scowl down at him, jeer at him, bully him, well it almost wasn't fair! Why did the tortured have to suffer even more, while the legitimate villains got to sit back and watch him die? Why did Sherlock get a death sentence for loving, while the bullies got to live out their lives simply because they hated? Maybe they were right; maybe they had finally gotten the right player on their side, God himself. Maybe he had decided to eradicate the homosexuals because they were mistakes, mutations? Maybe Sherlock was God's mistake. And yet that would make Victor a mistake (which really wasn't that hard to believe) and that would make John a mistake. And Sherlock could never be convinced that John was anything less than perfect, there wasn't a chance that boy had one flawed gene in his entire body, he was molded from perfection, he was the epitome of the ideal human being! And yet...he might have a death sentence on his head as well. Sherlock himself might have dragged him to the gallows along with him. So he was headed there now, in his lumpy old car, having left his mother at the hospital to find her own way home. He was too ashamed to even look her in the eye after all, for his romantic partners had always been kept more or less a secret. Of course she knew of Victor, everyone kind of did. Everyone knew of his orientation, and that was part of the reason he was tortures so heavily. She knew of Sherlock's interaction with him, he knew that he was hanging about him more often than most, and yet she had never had the firm confirmation that anything was happening. Little did she know that her own child was being manipulated by those electric blue eyes, and wooed by the words whispered in the deepest, most seductive of voices. It wasn't Sherlock's fault, that was what he told himself, and yet the first time may be true. Maybe he had just been caught up in the moment of it all, the opportunity so blissfully presented right at the time where he had been suspecting he might have wanted to... And yet the second time was very much his fault. And the third...well they could probably share the blame there. Oh what a sentencing that had been, if he had only known that loving Victor would bring upon his own demise then he would've stopped, he wouldn't have even begun? And who knows where Victor contracted it from, in all honesty he might have been the first, for it was no doubt that God would hate him the most of all the homosexuals. Everyone did, really. Everyone hated him. He told Sherlock to get tested over a phone call; he hadn't even bothered to show up in person, he hadn't even tried to be courteous about it. Sherlock had to sit in his room for _days _and decide whether or not it would be worth it. He wasn't outed yet, and to go in for testing would be to admit it all. Victor should've been there to console him; it would've been the proper thing to do! And yet Sherlock had been alone, he had to make this fateful choice all by himself. And so he didn't let that happen to John, no he would be mature about this; he would fess up to his mistakes and look John right in the eyes. For this had been his fault, if John had contracted the disease it would be Sherlock's fault, for it was no doubt that John had not been planning that night to escalate as it did. Only a week ago, and yet they had no contact since then, not even a glance in the hallway, not even a little phone call to check in. This would be the first time Sherlock saw John Watson after he had stumbled out of his car and into the darkness, the first time since John had driven away in some sort of panicked state. And yes, that had certainly been an interesting night, and yet Sherlock didn't deserve to be abandoned in that way! He had only done what he had wanted to do, what John wanted to do! It had been consensual, and so it wasn't his entire fault if John tested positive. It had honestly been a joint effort. So Sherlock drove to the Watson household, thankful that he knew the way even after only having seen it once or twice. It was a cheerful little house, no doubt holding secrets behind its baby blue shingles and its cute white shutters. It was a perfect example of an average middle class family, one daughter, one son. John Watson was a star at most everything he did, he wasn't just average, he was extraordinary. He was brilliant in the classroom and astonishing on the sports pitch, he was a gifted athlete, a beautiful boy...and he might be dying. He might be dying. How Sherlock had found himself in John's car in the first place all seemed to be something of an accident, it wasn't like they knew each other very well, it wasn't like they were meant to be together. Sure, Sherlock would love it if they were bound to be soulmates and yet he knew that was never going to happen. John had a girlfriend, a very dedicated and beautiful one at that, and to admit that he had an affair with scrawny little Sherlock Holmes would be destructive to his social status and his communal reputation. And yet it had happened, he hadn't fought back, he escalated the whole ordeal, and so Sherlock was not solely to blame, he wasn't! And yet he felt as though the weight of the world was on his back as he pulled up to the curb, steadying himself on the wheel and taking deep, heaving breaths. He was so worried about the fate of John Watson that he hadn't even taken the time to process his own disease; he hadn't taken the time to realize that the very thing that might kill John Watson was positively harbored inside of himself. It would kill him eventually, there was no cure...there was no stopping it. And yet it wouldn't be a tragedy, oh of course he would be mourned by his family, and yet it wasn't like he was some sort of pillar of the community. He was just him; he was a face in the crowd, a shadow at the back of the room, a one hundred percent on the test and a pencil wagging in the back corner desk. He hadn't any friends, not even accomplices, for Victor really didn't count. That boy had never been interested in friendship, and when the thrill of the love was beginning to die he had left, just as he had done with countless others, no doubt. And John, well he couldn't be counted as a friend, more of a...well a boy. John was a mere factor in Sherlock's life, a mere night that when counted up against all the lonely nights seemed to be rather insignificant. They knew each other from class, that was all, and of course Sherlock had always harbored the same love for him as all the rest of the girls in the school, the same sort of hopeless longing that was understood by the masses. He never thought it would happen, he never thought that maybe there was a chance that he would find himself not only with John...but alone. He wasn't a friend, he wasn't an acquaintance, he was a quick lean, a touch and a kiss and a breath that just turned into too much! And what was worse, Sherlock didn't regret it. No not one bit, he could die, John could die, that night may have meant nothing but it meant _everything _all the same. It might be the death of them both, and so what? He had been with John Watson, something not many people could boast. At least he would die with some sort of satisfaction. Sherlock got out of the car rather slowly; very apprehensive to press the doorbell for he didn't know how he would be greeted. John was home, he saw the familiar car in the driveway, sparkling innocently in the sunlight, not knowing what had been created in its depths. Sherlock nervously approached the front door, fixing his hair on instinct before ringing the bell and waiting for a response. He didn't hear much for a moment, and yet the sound of approaching footsteps announced the coming of a greeter before the door even had the chance to open. It was a woman that Sherlock didn't recognize, one who had the characteristics of a Watson that were only too easily recognized. The blonde hair, the soft eyes, she stood proudly and tall, looking down upon the stranger at her doorstep with some suspicion. Sherlock smiled up at her, noticing that she never opened the screen door to properly let him enter, keeping a layer of glass between the two of them as if she was suspicious as to why he was here. Surely Sherlock didn't look too intimidating, a scrawny kid, what harm could he possibly do?   
"Hello?" Mrs. Watson asked apprehensively, looking at Sherlock through the screen door with every sign of shoving the door shut in his face.   
"Hello um, Mrs. Watson? I'm here to talk to John." Sherlock said rather nervously, for her glares were making him feel quite unwelcome.   
"He's upstairs doing homework right now, could you possibly come back another time?" she suggested, not looking as though she was offering much of a choice in the matter.   
"I'm sorry ma'am, but it's terribly urgent." Sherlock said quickly, afraid that she would make her exit soon. The woman lingered if only for a moment, sighing heavily with her hand still clenched firmly on the handle of the door.   
"Urgent how?" she wondered nervously. Sherlock took a quick breath, tapping his toes nervously against their welcome mat as he tried to phrase this so that a suburban mother could understand. Of course he wouldn't share the secrets that were John's to tell, and yet he knew that he would be trapped behind this screen door if he didn't stress the urgency of the matter.   
"Life or death." Sherlock said firmly, looking up at the woman insistently. Mrs. Watson sighed heavily, for obviously she couldn't send someone away after a confrontation such as that, and so with a large reluctant breath she looked up towards the direction of what might be the staircase.   
"JOHN, YOU HAVE A VISITOR!" she cried, amplifying her voice in a way that only a mother could.   
"Who is it?" John's voice shouted back down, sending something of a chill down Sherlock's spine. He hadn't heard that voice since he said goodbye. Mrs. Watson turned to look at Sherlock in some confusion, realizing that she actually didn't know his name, and instead of asking she looked up at the staircase once more.   
"A BOY!" she yelled. It was an accurate description, of course, and yet it was terribly broad. Thankfully she didn't ask for his name, for as much as Sherlock would like to be announced he would rather his name didn't shake across the walls that may just hold his partner to Hell.   
"Ya alright, I'm coming down!" John replied after a moment, and Mrs. Watson turned back to face Sherlock. For a moment they just looked at each other, for the woman still hadn't opened the screen door.   
"I'm sorry, what was your name?" she wondered in a mockingly sweet voice.   
"Oh um..."   
"Sherlock." John said in the smallest of voices, having materialized next to his mother, looking just as apprehensive to open the door and let him in. For a moment Sherlock didn't know what to say, for a moment he felt as though he should just turn his back and run, and yet he knew that now wasn't the time. This was indeed a matter of life or death; there was no turning around now.   
"John, I'm sorry, but I need to talk to you. Urgently." Sherlock muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up without his permission, for even though their lives hung on the line John's beauty still made him a bit flustered. It was hard not to look at that boy and think about how he could get back into that car, get back into that backseat...   
"Ya...ya alright." John agreed rather nervously, pushing his mother out of the way so that he could open the screen door and admit Sherlock into the house. Sherlock smiled rather nervously at Mrs. Watson as he followed John up the carpeted stairs, smelling something like lasagna in the air as he dashed up out of the gaze of John's mother. They headed down a short hallway and arrived at John's room, or at least he could only imagine it was his bedroom, as it sported a bed and a closet and all the other telltale signs of being a bedroom. John lingered at the door and shuffled Sherlock through, closing it tightly and clicking the lock into place, seeming almost paranoid.   
"Sherlock what on _earth _are you doing here?" John challenged, sounding almost angry to see Sherlock in his midst once again.   
"John I need to tell you something, something that's..."   
"I don't want any love confessions, God if you make me remember that night again I'll throw you from the window." John warned furiously. Sherlock just stared at him, feeling almost insulted as he watched the almost terrified boy lingering at the door.   
"Well, it's kind of what I need to talk to you about." Sherlock admitted in a small voice. John sighed heavily, shaking his head and marching past Sherlock in something of a fit. He was in denial, most obviously, in a state where his brain told him one thing and his heart told him another. John was telling himself he hated the night they had shared, and yet Sherlock knew quite well that he wouldn't protest if he took him down onto the bed right now. No, he would be quite fine with it, undoubtedly.   
"I don't want to think about it, and honestly you strutting up into my house, right past my mother who could undoubtedly notice what orientation you sport just by looking at your hair and your clothes...well she'll think we're together!" John groaned, as if this really all was some great tragedy.   
"But we are...well we were. That's not the point, John that's not the point. I just came back from the hospital." Sherlock said quickly, standing where he was and noticing John take a quick step so as to ensure his balance, his face draining of all color for the slightest moment before he regained some sort of confidence.   
"What for?" John wondered in a nervous sort of voice, staring at Sherlock as if he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.   
"I'm um...well Victor Trevor called me. And so I got tested, John I'm...I'm HIV positive." Sherlock whispered, letting his head fall down in shame while he heard John's breath leave his lips in horror.   
"You're what?" he whispered, although he knew full well what that meant. He knew what that meant not only for Sherlock but for him as well. He knew what kind of fate came along with such a declaration.   
"John you need to get yourself tested, I know you don't want to think about it, but we didn't use..."   
"Now stop it, stop it now just _stop!" _John demanded, shaking his head flatly, and taking a step forward before taking a quick step back, remaining in his position and clutching his hands against each other in a state of shock. Sherlock didn't want to do this to him, no he felt as though this was not his death sentence to deliver. And yet it was necessary, was it not? John had to know, or he would undoubtedly die.   
"I'm sorry, but it's better to be safe, John I got diagnosed today, I've had it ever since I've been with Victor, that was three months ago, John there's all the chance in the world that you have it as well." Sherlock whispered, to which John just shook his head and muttered his denials once more.   
"No I don't, I can't have it. That was never supposed to happen." John said flatly.   
"And yet it did, John it did!" Sherlock insisted, starting to get a little bit annoyed at John's game of denial. Why couldn't he realize the severity of Sherlock's diagnosis?   
"But not me! It can't...no it can't happen to me." John muttered. "It was one night; it was one time, one mistake! I should never have...."   
"I know, I know, and I'm sorry. But it's not something you can just ignore, it won't go away." Sherlock insisted flatly, taking a step forward to which John took a step back, throwing up a hand to halt any of Sherlock's advances, almost as if he was afraid he might come closer.   
"It can't get tested, Sherlock that means I have to admit to...to being with you. I can't say that Sherlock, I can't face it!" John declared, shaking his head violently and taking another step back. He was going to try to hide from this, wasn't he? He was too ashamed.   
"John this is your _life, _it's more important than your reputation! You could die from this!" Sherlock exclaimed, to which John just shook his head, shaking his head so furiously as if he thought he could just shake the disease right from his body.   
"You don't understand." John started in a small voice.   
"I do! I do understand, John I wasn't out either, I had to approach my mother and tell..."   
"Ya but I'm not out! I never will be out, I am straight Sherlock, I am straight and if I tell people what happened they won't believe me! It was one time Sherlock, one time, how could I get punished for just one _bloody _time?" John growled.   
"So what if you're straight, so what if I'm not, so what about orientation, John this is life and death? I am going to die, you might die, my God do you see this hospital band on my arm? The doctor told me today, he gave me my death sentence, you can't just ignore this and let it get worse!" Sherlock growled, shaking his head in exasperation and taking a step forward. This time John didn't step back. He seemed to loosen, he seemed to drop his shoulders and hang his head, suddenly he was recovering from the shock and understanding the severity of it all.   
"But this can't be happening to me." John whispered, shaking his head ever so gently before holding his hand up to wipe away the first tear that fell down his cheek. Sherlock gave a great sigh of regret, rushing up to him to no protest. John flinched when he took his hands and yet he didn't pull away, no he wasn't stupid enough to deny this any longer. His fingers were smooth and yet they were trembling, suddenly he was overcoming his denial and was beginning to realize what was happening now. He was beginning to fear death as he should.   
"You need to get tested John, they have medications that can slow it down, but if you let it go..."   
"I know, I know Sherlock. Just, my God. I'm going to die." John whispered.   
"That's not a guarantee." Sherlock assured quietly, rubbing his thumbs softly over his palms so as to calm him down from whatever fear was beginning to overtake him.   
"I don't want to die. I don't want you to die." John insisted. Sherlock was quiet for a moment, for he couldn't make any promises there. John's life may not be over yet, and yet Sherlock's was coming to a close, it was only a matter of time. He didn't want to bring that up, so not to scare John just yet.   
"You need to tell your parents, John. You need to tell them to get you tested. Maybe they won't make the connection, maybe they won't even ask." Sherlock recommended.   
"No, they will." John insisted quietly, and yet that really didn't matter. They'd find out anyway, anyone could make the connection between a surprisingly feminine boy showing up to talk to their son and then the son's sudden need for an HIV test.   
"Would you like me to come with you?" Sherlock wondered carefully, letting his hands fall away from John's only to brush his fingers gently against the boy's cheek, for he was crying once more. Sherlock took the liberty of wiping away the tears he himself had created.   
"No, no." John muttered, blinking away the last of his tears before looking into Sherlock's eyes one last time, trembling while he let his hands fall away and his gaze shift. He started for the door, to which Sherlock could only follow to the staircase, and it as there that he stopped. He heard John start down the stairs, he heard him approach the kitchen. Sherlock was almost afraid to hear what happened next, and yet despite that he clutched to the banister, too afraid to walk away. He wouldn't let John be alone in this, not like he had been.   
"Mother?" John started nervously, yielding a great pause.   
"Yes honey, what is it? Is that boy gone?" Mrs. Watson asked, presumably looking away from whatever dinner she was making for the family.   
"I think I...I think I need to go to the hospital." John muttered. Sherlock heard Mrs. Watson gasp, for she could probably connect the dots from there.


End file.
